A High Class Education
by Ksue
Summary: After his high-profile and ugly divorce, Professor John Smith turned to high class escort Belle du Jour for comfort and companionship. When classes begin for the semester, no one is more surprised than John when Belle walks into his class. Except maybe Belle's alter ego, Rose Tyler.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Belle du Jour walks into the hotel bar like she owns the place. It's one of the tricks of the trade, so to speak, and it's always worked for her. One of her regulars, John, sits at the bar nursing a Scotch, a glass of chilled white wine beside him. She doesn't normally drink on the job, but with John one glass of wine before going to the room upstairs is tradition.

"Hello, John," she says, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder as she sits down beside him. He turns to her, his grin broad and a bit manic, the fringe of his shaggy brown hair falls into his eyes. She reaches up to brush it away.

"Hello, Belle." He leans in for a chaste kiss that tastes like expensive Scotch. Anyone at the bar probably thinks they're in a relationship, meeting for a drink after work. They would never guess that an obscene amount of money is going to change hands when they head upstairs.

"How are you?" Belle asks. She takes a small sip of her wine, letting the crisp sweetness roll over her tongue and biting back a moan at the taste.

John drapes an arm over the back of her chair, his fingers drifting lazily over the skin of her shoulder, left bare by her dress. Tingles race across her skin at the touch. She rests her free hand on his knee, squeezing lightly. A tremor runs through him and his eyes flutter shut for a brief moment.

"I'm fine. My sabbatical is winding down; I'll have to go back to teaching soon. Term starts in a few weeks." Belle makes it a point to know the broad strokes about her clients, but not the details. She knows that John is a professor at a University, but she has never asked which one, and they've never talked about his specialty. He's been on sabbatical for the last year, researching for a book he's writing.

"Are you happy to be back in the classroom?" Belle doesn't mention that she'll be going back to school herself in a few weeks. Their meetings aren't about her.

John sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

"I don't know. I've not been back since…well, since." Belle makes a sound in her throat, half agreement, half sympathy, and starts drawing small circles on his thigh. Anyone who reads the British tabs knows his story, married to Reinette Poisson, a socialite descended from royalty, her affair and their subsequent divorce, accompanied by the requisite scandal. The paparazzi still hound him occasionally, especially surrounding the release of his latest book or an event for his foundation, Such-and-Such. It's part of the reason they meet for a drink first, in case someone snaps a picture of him.

"I'm sure you'll be brilliant," Belle says. She leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, his stubble scratching at her lips.

They finish their drinks, for which John pays, and then he reaches for her hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow as he leads the way to the elevator.

As soon as the doors slide shut, John is on her. He pushes her against the wall, pinning her there with his thigh between her legs, and nips at her neck.

"Mmm, hello," she hums, just as he claims her lips in a kiss. His hands skate down her sides to the hem of her dress, tickling the skin of her thighs as his tongue traces patterns just below her ear. Belle gasps, grinding down on his thigh.

"John," she breathes, threading her fingers through that really great hair and giving it a sharp tug. He nips harder at her neck, but still not hard enough to leave a mark. He knows better.

The elevator doors chime and slide open, and John sweeps her into his arms, carrying her a short way down the hall to the room they use every time they meet. Not for the first time with him, Belle wants to say sod procedure and go straight to shagging him rotten, but she can't. There's a line that shouldn't be crossed, and leaving the particulars for later is that line.

John doesn't push, just sets her down inside the door and reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket. Then he leaves for the en suite with a kiss. Belle waits until she's counted the money, even though he's never tried to short her before, and then calls her manager with their all clear signal.

While John showers, Belle goes through her own routine. She tucks the envelope into her purse and tucks her purse in the cupboard. She takes a handful of condoms and puts them on the bedside table, just waiting to be used. She shimmies out of her knickers, knowing that John likes to discover she's bare beneath her dress. Then she lounges in the middle of the bed and waits.

John comes back from the shower, skin dry, hair damp, not bothering to hide his nakedness or his arousal. A thrill races through Belle's blood, leaving a pleasant warmth in its wake. Though Belle is a professional and it's her job to turn men on, seeing John hard after only a snog and a quick grope in the elevator is something else. It makes her feel more desired than any other bloke has ever made her feel.

"Hello," he says when her eyes finish their perusal of his body and end up back at his face.

"Hello," she says. She gives him her best she-wolf smile and beckons him closer. John stalks forward, kneeling on the bed and crawling over her, dragging a hand up her leg as he goes. His fingers skate over her core and his eyes darken when he encounters the soft curls instead of lace.

"Naughty girl," he says. He abandons his trek upwards and ducks under her dress instead, tracing his tongue along her slit. Belle's head drops back to the pillows and she groans, the sound incredibly loud in the silent room. "Yes. Let me hear you."

John nudges his shoulder into Belle's knee and she lets her legs fall open, surrendering herself to his attention. He teases her with licks and nips, working first one finger and then another inside her. By the time he's thrusting against the mattress for want of release, Belle is writhing and crying out beneath him.

"John, please," she begs, because she knows he likes it and because she can't go another second without feeling him inside of her. He reaches for one of the condoms on the nightstand and sheathes himself before sinking into her with a shuddering moan that Belle feels in her heart.

Neither of them lasts as long as they'd like to before they come with shattering intensity. Belle's entire body is wracked with tremors that don't subside even as John gathers her in his arms and tucks her head to his chest.

"Shh," he murmurs, skating his hand up and down her back. Finally Belle stills.

"That was…" she breathes.

"Incredible. How do you manage it?" John asks. Belle shakes her head, the movement hampered by Johns sweaty chest beneath her cheek. She can't tell him that it's different with him, that he makes her feel in a way no other client or boyfriend ever has. She can't hint at an attachment to him, or personal feelings. She already finds it difficult to stay professional when she's with him, she has to hold on to some shred of it.

"So it's worthy of top marks, Professor?" she teases. John growls playfully into her ear, his fingertips digging lightly into her side until she giggles.

"The highest, Miss du Jour." John presses a kiss to her forehead and sighs. "I wish I had time for this to be an overnight appointment."

"Me too," Belle echoes.

They bask in each other's presence for a while, enjoying the silence and the contact until the alarm on John's phone goes off. He sighs deeply and gets out of bed, pulling on his clothes slowly, like he loathes every moment of it.

"Why does this feel like an ending?" John asks, sitting next to Belle and smoothing the hair away from her face. She presses her cheek into his hand.

"Because it is. I hope we'll still meet, of course, but I imagine you'll have much less freedom with term starting."

"We'll still meet," John says, leaning over Belle and kissing her deeply. "I will make it work, even if I have to grade papers in bed as soon as I make you come."

Belle laughs, a loud, throaty sound that follows John out the door. Belle tries not to think of the warmth his words stirred in her. That life, go to work, come home to a man, and bask in the afterglow while he works in bed, is not for her no matter how much she wishes it were.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I've tweaked the timeline a bit, so Pete in this story died when Rose was a teenager, not an infant. **

**Chapter 2**

Doctor John Smith sits in his faculty office at King's College, dreading the upcoming term. It's his first day in the office and he's gotten nearly everything unpacked. He would be finished, but the Dean of the college had stopped by to give him his teaching schedule; several classes of organic chemistry, which was perfectly acceptable, and one class of introductory chemistry, which was not. Apparently his yearlong sabbatical is not about to go unpunished.

Added to all of his start-of-term stress, John hasn't seen Belle in almost two weeks. His need for her feels like an itch beneath his skin, but he hasn't had time to fit in even an hour with her. He pulls out his cell phone and scans his calendar. If he rearranges a few things, he can see her for a few hours on Saturday night.

He dials the agency before he can really consider it, and books the appointment, a bit surprised that Belle has an open appointment at the last minute. He even asks for an overnight, despite not really having the time for it. His next call is to his sister, Donna.

"Hello, Spaceman," she answers cheerily. He grimaces at the despised nickname.

"Hello Donna. Listen, I'm sorry but…"

"If you're calling to say you're not coming to dinner tomorrow, I'm going to murder you," Donna hisses. John is glad that he's physically out of Donna's reach; the woman is a right terror when she's angry.

"I'm so sorry, Donna, I've just got loads left to do before classes start." He feels terrible for lying to his sister, but the desire to see Belle overrides the guilt.

"Pippa and Fred will be so disappointed, they've been looking forward to this all week," Donna says. The jab goes straight to his heart. He would do anything for his niece and nephew, anything at all, and Donna knows it.

"Low blow, Donna," he grits out. "I tell you what, I'll come round for lunch on Sunday. I'll even take the whole day off and take them to the park for the afternoon, if you'll just let me work Saturday night."

"Fine. I already hate that you're back to teaching," she tells him.

"Thanks, Donna. Gotta run."

John hangs up before Donna can lay anymore guilt on him. Now that he has a concrete time to see Belle, the knot of apprehension in his chest starts to ease. If he can make it to tomorrow night, all will be well.

#

Rose Tyler sighs as she looks at the tiny desk crammed into the corner of her tiny bedroom in the tiny estate flat she shares with her mother. On the desk, she's laid out all the things she thinks she'll need for her first term at university. A notebook, a datebook much like the one she uses for work, only pink instead of black, plenty of pens and highlighters, and the laptop she splurged on when she registered for classes. It's pristine, a sleek silver thing that weighs barely more than a feather. It cost entirely too much, but Rose knows she needs one if she ever hopes to keep up.

Running through her mental checklist, Rose starts packing everything in her battered messenger bag, careful to zip the laptop into its protective case first. It's too early to be packing up, two days before term starts, but she can't help it. She needs something to do or she'll go crazy.

"Rose!"

She jumps at the shout from her mother, Jackie, and then eases out of her room, closing the door firmly behind her.

"What, mum?" she asks.

"Where's the tea?" Jackie, dressed in a ratty pink track suit, stands in the middle of their tiny kitchen, staring at the cupboards like she's never seen them before. She probably hasn't, not since Rose reorganized them a few months ago.

"In the tin on the counter, mum. I'll make it, I could murder a cuppa anyway."

"What 'ave you been doing, shut up in that bedroom of yours all morning?" Jackie asks with her eyes narrowed. Rose sighs. Of all the days for her mother to choose to be lucid, instead of practically catatonic in front of the telly.

"Making sure I have everything I need for school. Term starts Monday." Rose puts the kettle on the stove and busies herself with preparing the tea. Jackie snorts.

"University. I don't know why you need to go, you made it this far just fine. You should be working, not wasting time at university. It's already giving you airs and graces," Jackie says, disdain dripping from every word. Rose bites the inside of her cheek. "Next thing you know, you're going to tell me you want to move off the estate."

"Why is that a bad thing?" Rose shouts, slamming her hands onto the counter. "And I _am_ working, which is more than can be said about you!"

Jackie blinks a few times. "Tea ready yet?"

Rose shakes her head, knowing better than to push. She finishes doctoring Jackie's tea, doesn't feel much like a cuppa anymore herself, and then retreats back to her room. Grabbing her mobile phone off the bedside table, another impossibly expensive splurge, she scrolls through her contacts until she finds the one she wants.

"Hey, Rosie!" Jack's cheery voice brings a smile immediately to her face. He's the only work friend she has who knows her real name, and about her real life.

"Hey Jack. Fancy a run?"

"Sure. Meet you at the park in half an hour?" Rose agrees and then toys with her contacts list. She scrolls by her boss's name, sorely tempted to call and beg for an appointment or two today. Why she thought it was a good idea to take the night off, she can't imagine. She'd hoped that John might call for an appointment, but she gathered he was too busy preparing, which Rose thought she would be as well. Really, she's going half out of her mind with pent up energy.

In the hallway, Rose touches her fingers to her lips, and then to her father's picture. She slips out the front door without saying goodbye to her mother, who is back in her usual spot on the couch, in front of the telly, blank look in her eyes.

Jack is already at the park entrance when Rose arrives, hopping from one foot to the other. Rose shakes her head, but can't keep the smile from creeping onto her face.

"Rosie!" He envelopes her in a giant hug, lifting her off the ground, and presses a kiss to her cheek.

"Ready?" Rose asks, once Jack sets her down. He nods and they fall into an easy jog to warm up.

"Got any fun appointments lined up for the weekend?" Jack asks. Rose shakes her head.

"No, I took the next two nights off to get ready for school. I shouldn't have, I'm kicking myself for it now, but at the time it seemed like a good idea."

"Don't like being stuck in the flat?" Jack asks.

"I hate it. Every time the phone rings….I can hardly stand listening to the messages. Buying the laptop set me back too, I should be using this weekend to make up the money." The numbers in her bank account tumble through Rose's head, along with the list of creditors to pay, bills to settle, and groceries to get. The only time she can truly turn off that part of her mind, leave the real Rose Tyler behind at the council estate, is when she gets to be Belle.

"Rose, you have to keep some of it. How are you ever going to build a life for yourself if you don't?"

"I can't keep it, Jack. I mean, I do put a bit in a savings account, but not much. Dad's debt just keeps snowballing, and with mum in front of the telly all day the electric is sky high. I never thought that making the kind of money we make would still leave me strapped at the end of the month."

The words spill out before Rose can stop them. Jack is the only person she can tell these things to. Most of her mates don't know what she does, and the ones that do don't realize how bad it is at home. Jack is the one person who knows everything, and doesn't judge or pity her for it.

Rose's mobile rings and she slows to a walk. Her boss's number comes up and Rose thinks that maybe her sanity will be saved.

"Belle, John Smith called and booked an overnight tonight. I know it's last minute and you were supposed to be off, but you said if he called…"

"I know, Trish, its fine. Perfect, really. Thanks." Rose hangs up with a smile.

"Got a good appointment after all?" Jack asks with a lascivious grin that makes his clients weak in the knees.

"The best."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Smut. So much smut.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 3**

Rose feels like a giddy schoolgirl as she heads home to prep for her overnight with John. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, and her core is already clenching in anticipation. She hasn't felt this way in a long time.

Rose showers, making sure all the appropriate body maintenance has held up, and then sets about making herself look the part. She leaves her hair down but doesn't add much product, because John likes to run his hands through it, then applies make-up with a light hand. Some clients prefer the sex pot look, the stereotypical escort look, but others, like John, prefer a more natural face.

With every stroke of her make up brush, she feels Rose the estate chav fall away. In her place is the classy, desirable Belle. Once every trace of Rose has been hidden away, and Belle stares back at her in the mirror, she grabs her bag and heads for the hotel.

In the lobby, Belle leaves her bag with the bellhop, knowing it will be waiting in the room when they arrive, and moves to the bar to meet John. He's sitting apart from the other patrons, a tumbler of Scotch and a glass of white wine before him, as always. He lifts the tumbler to his lips and takes a tiny sip. Belle watches his adam's apple bob gently as swallows, and it sets her blood simmering.

"Waiting for someone?" she asks, coming to stand next to him. She sees the corner of his mouth turn up as he faces her.

"Not anymore," he replies. He rises from his seat and leans in to kiss her. It's not entirely chaste, there's the barest hint of his tongue against her lips, and Belle resists the urge to deepen it. She can wait. Maybe.

"How are you?" she asks, sliding onto her seat and picking up her glass. She can't help but smile as John watches her, taking in the way her lips press against the glass and the wine slides between them. His eyes flash dark, hungry.

"A bit stressed, if I'm honest," he says when she finally sets the glass down. He reaches out to snag her fingers with his, holding her hand loosely atop the bar. Belle smiles at the contact.

"Ready for start of term? To be Professor John Smith once again?"

"I think so. I hope so." Belle leans forward and brushes her lips softly against his.

"For what it's worth," she whispers, her lips still ghosting against his. "I think your students will love you."

She pulls back, and the desire swimming in his eyes nearly drowns her. She wants to climb into his lap and have him right in the middle of the hotel bar, sod the onlookers.

Belle takes a deep breath, hoping to steady herself. She feels reckless, like she's riding a runaway train. Her carefully cultivated professional detachment fades with every appointment John books.

They continue to talk as they finish their drinks, and Belle works hard to calm herself. They discuss the impending publication of John's latest book, and fundraising for his charity, Breathe Free. He tells her about his plans to spend the next day with his niece and nephew. Belle can't help the warmth that spreads through her as she imagines him running after two children, playing the doting uncle.

Finally, both their glasses are empty. John's gaze never leaves hers as he stands and offers his hand.

"Shall we?"

Belle smiles.

#

Somehow, they manage to keep their hands to themselves in the lift. Belle follows John to the room and he holds the door open, allowing her to slip by him. She takes the opportunity to make sure her hip brushes his groin as she passes, and smiles at the way his eyes flutter shut. Then there are the usual particulars; John hands Belle an envelope thick with cash and goes to the en-suite for a shower, Belle counts the money and calls Trish with the all clear.

Instead of simply slipping off her knickers like she usually does, Belle changes into an expensive, luxurious lingerie set and then slips on a short, silk dressing gown, cinching it tight around her waist. Her heels stay on, and she perches on the edge of the settee, waiting for the water to stop running.

By the time John is finished with his shower, Belle is practically vibrating with excitement. It feels like every muscle in her body is clenched in anticipation, and she's liable to combust at any moment. She has a feeling that tonight's first round won't last long.

She stands in the middle of the room, toying with the sash at her waist, as John emerges from the en suite. He never covers himself with a towel, and Belle enjoys drinking in the sight of him. There's a smattering of hair in the center of his chest, not thick but certainly enough to be manly. He's a bit skinny, but muscular as well, like a runner. Belle's eyes skitter across his body, drinking in the sight of him, until her gaze comes to rest on his cock, jutting proudly from the nest of hair at his pelvis. He's so hard it looks painful, and Belle wants to take him in her mouth and kiss away the pain.

"See something you like?" John asks, smirking. Belle resumes toying with the sash at her waist and winks at him, hoping to wrest back a least some control.

"Do you?" she purrs. John stalks towards her reaching out for the hem of the dressing gown. He rubs the silk between his fingers and skates his fingertips up her thigh to her hip, where they meet lace instead of flesh. His pupils dilate until his eyes are black with want.

"'S like unwrapping a present," he murmurs. He dips a finger under the band at her thigh and leans in to kiss her.

There's no softness, no finesse in his kiss. His lips are hard and insistent against hers, and his tongue immediately begs entrance. It's sloppy and deep and Belle can feel it sparking every nerve ending in her body. She hums happily, running her hands across his shoulders, his back, everywhere she can reach before dropping to cup the firm globes of his arse and pull him hard against her. John moans into her mouth and ruts against her, then pulls back.

"Blimey, you're gorgeous," he says, breathing hard. He tugs impatiently at the sash, growling when it falls open to reveal the black lace. The bustier is cropped and mostly see-through, except for a few strategically placed flowers. The knickers are hip huggers, covering more of her than she usually allows. But John was right, it's like unwrapping a present, and she wants it to feel that way.

John traces the line of the bustier with his fingers, leaving gooseflesh in his wake, and then leans in and follows the same path with his lips. Belle's breath hitches in her throat when his lips close around her nipple, the lace between them adding an unbearably arousing sensation. She squeezes her thighs together, desperate for a little release.

"John," she breathes, clutching his shoulders. She can feel his lips curl into a smile against her skin.

He draws himself to his full height, staring down at her with blazing eyes. Belle shudders against him. She wants him, in a visceral way that she's never wanted anyone before.

"John," she whispers. "Fuck me."

He growls, his chest rumbling against her breasts and making Belle bite her lip. He leans in for another kiss, taking her by the hips and pushing her against the wall. He takes her hands in his, sliding them up the wall until he can grip them with one hand above her head. His free hand slides down her arm, over her breast, and traces the curve of her hip until he reaches the waistband of her knickers. He doesn't pause at the barrier, just dips his fingers inside until he's tracing her slit. He circles her clit with one finger, groaning at how wet she is, just for him.

Belle is shaking with want. Her hips jerk as John slides first one, then two fingers inside of her, pumping slowly. Her eyes flutter shut and she arches into him, her nipples brushing the coarse hair of his chest and sending sparks through her belly. She clenches around his fingers.

"Fuck, Belle," John gasps, his hand tightening around her wrist.

"Inside," she breathes against his lips. "I need you inside me. Now."

There's some desperate fumbling as John yanks her knickers down and she sheathes him in a condom, and then he shoves her back into the wall, hitches one leg over his hip, and thrusts into her. Hard.

Belle keens loudly, her head thumping back against the wall. He fills her perfectly, stretching her just short of painfully.

"Good, so good," he mutters into her hair. They both still for a moment, reveling in the sensation of him buried inside her, until Belle feels like she's going to die without release. She tilts her hips and he slips deeper, making her gasp.

"Please," she begs. "Please John, please. Make me come."

She catches his earlobe between her teeth and tugs. He grunts and thrusts against her, then draws back slowly until he's almost left her entirely. He waits until she whimpers and then thrusts home.

"Fuck!" Belle cries, driving her hand into his hair and gripping hard. The tug against his scalp nearly makes John come right then, but he takes a deep breath and pauses before thrusting again. He drives her, and himself, mad with firm, measured thrusts. Belle's cries grow more desperate until she's nearly sobbing, begging him to make her come. John knows that he's close, can feel the tell-tale burning in the base of his spine.

He slips a hand between them and rubs hard at Belle's clit. It only takes a moment before she's coming, screaming and clenching around him in such a vice grip that he can't hold back. He thrusts hard, once, twice, and then he's coming too, groaning as they shudder against each other.

Belle sags into the wall, her legs shaking. John disposes of the condom and then sweeps her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. She smiles up at him, tracing her fingers through the stubble on his cheeks.

"How long until you're ready for round two?" she asks. John tosses her onto the bed and then crawls towards her, nudging his shoulders beneath her knees. He nips at the inside of her thigh.

"How about right now?"

Belle gasps and curls her fingers into the duvet, thinking that it's going to be a very good night indeed.


End file.
